Aberfeldy 12 – An Aromatic Adventure for the Tastebuds

In the twilight of my explorations among the amber elixirs, I find myself drawn inexorably to the promise held within an unfamiliar distillery’s offering—an unwritten narrative concealed within each crystalline droplet. Ah, the allure of uncharted territories, the tantalizing prospects of encountering a hitherto undiscovered gem that might, with a sip, become an indelible favorite. Indeed, the chronicling of such novelties became the raison d’être for my literary pursuits—a quest to immortalize these liquid parables, to share their whispered secrets, and to indulge in the ceaseless dance of sampling the nectar of new whiskies. Yet, after a decade enveloped in this aromatic pilgrimage, the wellspring of pristine single malt distilleries has begun to show signs of exhaustion, an ephemeral phenomenon in the face of the ever-flowing expressions from established enclaves.

And so, amid this symphony of familiar notes, emerges Aberfeldy, a name entwined with the very essence of Dewar’s Blended Scotch—an enigmatic sibling in the family, where the majority of Aberfeldy’s single malt elixir converges to shape the blended tapestry of Dewar’s. Fond of the blended kin, the prospect of imbibing an undiluted manifestation of its concentrated essence, adorned with a 12-year age statement, held a seductive allure—an invitation both promising and reassuring.

Aberfeldy 12, nurtured in a harmonious blend of casks, including the echoes of ex-sherry and ex-bourbon, some reborn through refill, and others rekindled through re-charring. Yet, alas, a somber note strikes with the revelation of its 40% bottling strength—a crimson flag fluttering in the breeze of budgetary expectation.

The olfactory overture unfolds, and a familiar Dewar’s melody dances through the senses—a tropical serenade of kiwi, coconut, exotic citrus, and the unripe refrain of banana. A symphony of florals, a bed of sweet malt—such is the Highland profile, refined and nuanced. With time, the malt emerges, a metamorphosis into notes of graham cracker and shortbread cookie—an aromatic prelude, a sensory delight.

But, as the elixir meets the palate, a lament unfurls—a body thin as the whispered secrets of a distant zephyr, a watery echo of anticipated crescendos. Tropical whispers linger but muted, as if the essence were diluted, the malt, a mere echo. Vanilla wafer cookies, a meager repertoire.

The denouement is swift, a short-lived coda. A fleeting sweetness adorns the malt, accompanied by a touch of nuttiness and a whisper of bitter charcoal. Yet, depth is a phantom, and tannins are but fleeting shadows. The finale, a lingering bitterness, fading into the recesses of memory.

A drop of water, a hesitant interlude. The nose awakens, tickled by heightened volatility. The palate, a wisp of its former self, devoid of revelation. The finish, a muted echo, a slightly sweeter demise. Water, an unwelcome companion to this Highland tale.

In summation, a Highland sonnet marred by the murmur of over-dilution—a floral aria defiled by the insipidity of weakened spirits, a lacuna in the opus. Yearning for a higher ABV, a plea for 46% or beyond, and an additional triennium within the cask to unfurl the tendrils of depth, shedding the cloak of bitterness. A longing, an unfulfilled desire for Aberfeldy’s essence to transcend, to resonate on the palate at higher concentrations—a dream yet uncharted, a story yet untold.